


get me away from here i'm dying

by heterocosmica



Series: 15 minute fics [17]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Mild Blood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heterocosmica/pseuds/heterocosmica
Summary: Susan dreams





	get me away from here i'm dying

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the 15 minute fics prompt word #25 on pillowfort.

She ran with full lungs. Through the tall grass of the wild fields, jumping over holes and stones, towards the hard, barren rock of the cliff. Her heart raced, laughter bubbling up and bursting out of her lips periodically.

To feel the sun on her face again, and the fresh air of the sea in her throat; to smell the summer grass; to feel the wind on her skin. It was what she had dreamt of for so long. All those years stuck in one stuffy house after another just cemented her desire to return to-

But no, none of this was real. It was yet another dream of the fantasies of childhood, she was certain. 

The war had been scary. It had been painful and harsh. The fantasy she and her siblings slipped into, well, it was lovely but it was only that, a fantasy. 

There was no Aslan, no Narnia, no freedom. The only power she now had was her beauty, her composure, the measured way she spoke and acted and moved. 

The dream crumbled around her suddenly. The beautiful landscape shifted into a gloomy London night and she found herself barefoot, standing in the middle of a street. 

She kept going, step by step, one foot in front of the other, but it was harder now. There was a heaviness pressing on her chest and her breaths became short and gasping. Still, with her head high, she looked at the bomb stricken piles of concrete and stone that had once been houses, in some other life. Her nylon stockings caught on the uneven asphalt with every step, the soles ripping, until there was nothing between her skin and the rough ground.

But this wasn't real either, she knew it with all her heart. Perhaps it had been, once, but London rebuilt. People survived. There was air in these streets again. Still, this dream was much harder to tear down. She tried, oh how she tried, but there was nothing she could tell herself to get out of it, there was no hope in her heart.

She spent the night roaming the empty streets, desperately gasping for air, until she was at the end of her rope. Despair felt overwhelming and her feet, though they didn't hurt, were raw and bloody. 

Crumbling to her knees, she sobbed.

And then there was a rumble, almost sounding like her name. It tore through the air, gave her breath and strength. And when she opened her eyes, she was in her bed again, sunlight streaming through the window, warm on her face.


End file.
